Counterpoint
by scorchedtrees
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets set in the Rivetra music AU. Rating for safety.
1. violin mark

_A/N: These were all originally posted on tumblr and I decided to throw them together in a a random collection on ffnet as well. They'll be posted in the order I wrote them._

_If you have no idea what the 'Rivetra music AU' is, it's basically three fics I wrote in which Petra is a violinist and Levi a pianist; they're on my profile. The order is 'Perfect Harmony,' 'Chords of Progression,' and 'Rhythms of the Heart.'_

_Anyway this is rated M just in case for what will be chapter five. The rest should be quite sfw._

* * *

Petra has never liked her violin mark.

It's an inevitable thing to have as a violinist; she plays her instrument so much that the constant chafing of the skin below her left jaw against her chinrest will of course leave a blemish. All the violinists and violists she knows have a mark there, a symbol of their hard work and dedication that most bear with pride.

Petra doesn't mind it, really, but she doesn't like it either. She's used to it by now, of course, has been seeing it in the mirror since she was a little girl; the discoloration is just another part of her—but she doesn't _like_ it. Yes, she plays the violin and is proud of that, but that doesn't mean she wants physical proof of it printed on her body.

Petra has never liked her violin mark, but Levi loves it.

She can tell by the way he touches it with his fingers, gently stroking it as he cups her chin in his hand before bending his head to kiss her; or the way he presses his lips to it, softly and quietly like he is telling her a secret; or the way he sucks on it, teeth scraping slightly, tongue flicking out to caress it, teasing the sensitive spot there.

He tucks her hair behind her ears in the mornings and kisses her just below the jaw, sending little sparks of pleasure shooting through the dulled nerve endings, and she thinks maybe she likes her violin mark after all.


	2. fingers

_A/N: Written for a prompt. Set before part 3. Or maybe 2 idk._

* * *

_"Ugh,"_ Petra groans, flopping backwards onto the couch in a heap of exhaustion and loose limbs. "I'm so freaking _tired_."

"I don't see why," Levi says from the doorway to her apartment, her coat draped over his arms and her violin case on his back. "You only played for five hours."

His serious tone and his joking tone are exactly the same so it takes Petra a moment to realize he's being sarcastic. She rolls her eyes at him and continues to lie there, holding her hands up to study them under the living room light.

"Look at this," she complains, wriggling her fingers. "Just look. I swear my right thumb hasn't been this deformed since I first picked up a bow and—look! I'm surprised my strings haven't completely rusted considering how black my fingers are."

He closes the door and sets her instrument down by the shoe rack, joining her on the couch. She forces herself to shuffle her feet aside to make room for him, but her ankles end up resting on his left thigh anyway, sending waves of his body heat shooting through her skin.

"And my poor fingertips," she continues, making a face as she taps them against the edge of the couch's armrest. "Ouch. Especially my pinky. Typing's going to be a bitch tonight."

She doesn't expect Levi to react—he often just sits there in silence as she rambles on, but she knows he hears everything she says—but to her surprise, he suddenly plucks her left hand from the air where she is still waving it around and turns it over in his palm.

She lets him contemplate it, but inwardly she cringes—her hands have never been attractive, and they are most definitely quite hideous after she just spent the whole afternoon playing violin at a charity event, only stopping for five-minute breaks every hour. Her fingers have always been rough and callused, but now they are the color of her fingerboard, the color of soot, thick black ridges on each tip where she pressed them into the strings, surrounded by white dead skin.

"You're so lucky your instrument doesn't do anything to you," she sighs. "Except maybe make you fat because you sit all the time."

She's just teasing, of course—she has hugged him before, felt the hard press of his chest against hers; he is most definitely not fat—but he looks up at that, frowning. "I am not _fat_," he says, and—is that _indignation_ in his tone?

"I'm just _kidding_!" Petra laughs. "You thought I was serious? You _are_ such a girl, sheesh. Look at your hands; they're so delicate and well-kept and _girly_." She takes his other hand in hers and holds it up to emphasize her point.

He doesn't say anything to this, but she expected as much—Levi is more of a clean freak than any female she's known and he takes great pride in his meticulous appearance, his unblemished fingers, his perfect cuticles.

His palm is warm against hers, his fingers smooth and soft, and Petra envies him for it. She loves her instrument, would never give it up for anything, but it leaves such marks upon her body—there's that annoying dark splotch under her left jaw left over from her chinrest too—whereas Levi's dexterous, talented fingers are as untouched as any non-musician's.

Looking at those deft, lovely fingers, she wonders not for the first time how they would feel threaded through her hair, tugging at her clothes, but she shoves the thought aside quickly before it can make her do something stupid. She pushes her thumb up against his and rubs circles by his fingernail.

"Yup," she says. "No one can tell you play piano judging from _this_."

His other hand is still flipping hers around, his fingers exploring the tips of hers, and he says, "I wouldn't mind calluses."

"Are you serious?" Petra twists her head to look at him; his eyes are still trained on her hand, his face thoughtful. "I can hardly feel anything in my fingertips after practicing hard, and typing is painful for a while afterwards. You _want_ that?"

"You can see your commitment to your instrument, the effort you put into it," Levi says. "If you didn't know I play piano, what would you think I do for a living?"

She cocks her head and studies him for a moment—his neat dark hair, his open-collared shirt, the strong tendons of his arms, his worn jeans and polished shoes. "I don't know. I'd probably think you were some office guy," she says, and he snorts.

"Exactly."

She never thought of it like that; perhaps she should be grateful. The violin has been a part of her life for so long, she can't imagine what she'd be like without it.

"What would you think _I_ do for a living if I didn't have these?"

He smirks and untangles his other hand from hers, flicking her playfully on the shoulder. "With _your_ looks?"

She nods and tries not to feel nervous as his eyes travel down the length of her body in speculation. He probably didn't mean anything by his comment, but something about his low voice and the dark, stormy gray of his irises makes her breath still in her throat, and for some ridiculous reason she finds herself hoping he'll say something like—

"I'd probably think you were still in high school."

She shoves the heel of her foot into his knee as hard as possible.


	3. waltz

_A/N: This was also written for a prompt. Set before part 3. I would like to warn you that it's really stupid._

* * *

Sometimes Levi thinks Hanji is a dream come true, but whether that dream is good or bad he finds it extremely difficult to tell.

On one hand, she helps him in so many ways; she is his friend, she calls him out on his particularly shitty behavior, she coaches him on how to behave in interviews so he doesn't scare his potential CD buyers off or whatever; she is likely more than 50% responsible for the success of his career, considering how much effort he puts into it.

On the other hand, she can be the world's most annoying person; she is loud and obnoxious, she loves to say random things to try and mess with him, she never stops making insinuations and inappropriate comments about him and Petra; not to mention she likes to sign him up for various things without his consent.

Which is why he is currently sitting at his piano bench, staff paper spread out in front of him and a pencil in his hand, trying not to glare as he attempts to write music for a waltz.

This would be so much easier if it were a Chopin-style waltz, but Chopin's waltzes were written for concert performance, not dancing. Hanji was sparse on the details but she did mention a ballroom dance; apparently the manager of the event wants original music written for an English waltz that night, something to do with impressing several important attendees.

What irritates him most about the whole thing is the deadline. He likes to compose, but that is in his free time when the inspiration hits. Inspiration for writing music is a free, flighty thing that cannot be forced; nothing good comes out of trying to force it, which explains why he's been staring at his paper for nearly ten minutes now, the only thing written down the key signature (3/4, of course) and the tempo (90 BPM). He can't even decide if he wants to use F or G major yet.

He sighs and cracks his knuckles against the piano bench, then taps them lightly in triple time over the keys. _Mozart, _he thinks, _channel Mozart,_ but it's tough, especially when one of Petra's ridiculous-as-hell Korean pop songs that she likes to play out loud is stuck in his head.

"Is something wrong?" she asks from where she is sprawled across his bed, humming something tuneless under her breath and typing a message on her phone. She often spends lazy Sunday afternoons with him, relaxing and just hanging out as most other people get ready for another week of work.

Her hair is spread out in a crown of gold around her head, her blue shirt dark against his white bedsheets; it has ridden up a little, revealing a strip of bare skin over the waistline of her jeans, and he finds his eyes caught on it for a moment.

She looks at him inquisitively and he forces his eyes back to hers, hoping she hasn't noticed the direction of his gaze. "No," he says, rubbing his knuckles. "Just trying to write an English waltz."

"You're writing a waltz?" She sits up, a spark of interest in her eyes. "Why?"

"Commission."

"Ah. That makes sense; I didn't think you'd write one for fun."

"Why not?" he says dryly. "I don't seem like a waltz sort of person to you?"

She snorts. "Have you ever danced one before?"

"No."

"I figured."

F major might work; he's not in the mood to work with sharps right now. He writes down the key signature and the first note—the tonic, of course—and then finds himself stuck again as his mind refuses to come up with more.

"Having trouble?" Petra says, sympathy in her tone.

"These are so much easier to play than to write," Levi grumbles, setting his pencil down again. "All the melodies in my head are those of Mozart's, or Bach's, or whatever. How the hell am I supposed to come up with my own when I have no idea what the fucking dance even looks like?"

"Hey," she says, swinging her legs off his bed, "why don't I show you?"

He looks up from the keys he's fingering and gives her an odd look. "What?"

"Stand up and I'll show you. You need some ideas, don't you? Maybe if you dance it, you'll get a better feeling for how music for it should be written."

She is standing now, feet firmly planted on the ground; her shoes are next to his closet and her socks are purple, a hole in the knee of her jeans, her shirt wrinkled and her hair messy from where she lay on it. She is smiling though, one hand outstretched to him, and she looks so warm and inviting he very nearly gets up from the piano bench.

And then rationality sets in and he turns back to his mostly blank score. "I don't dance."

"Which is why I said I'll show you, dumbass."

He doesn't budge. "I _don't_ dance."

He expects her to leave him alone then—most people do when he brings out that tone of voice—but really, it's _Petra _and he should have known. Next thing he knows she is standing by him, hands tugging at his, yanking him until he nearly stumbles off the piano bench, his feet finding purchase on the floor just in time.

"You can play in concert halls in front of hundreds or even thousands of people, you've got nearly a million subscribers on YouTube last time I checked, but you can't even do a simple waltz step?" She sticks her tongue out at him. "Come on, Levi. It's easy. I'll show you."

He wants to pull away, jerk his hands out of hers and return to the piano, but he doesn't really because it feels nice, her hands holding his. It feels natural, it feels right, so he doesn't say anything, which is basically his way of acquiescing.

She smirks, triumphant. "Good boy," she murmurs, and he wants to tell her to shut up because he is not a dog, but then she takes his right hand and places it on her waist, bringing her left hand up to rest on his shoulder, and he nearly forgets how to breathe.

She is suddenly much closer to him, their similarity in heights causing his eyes to land just north of hers, resting on the fine arch of her eyebrows and the pale, smooth skin of her forehead, strands of hair falling over it. The fingers of his left hand are entwined with hers, their palms warm and barely brushing, and the fingers of his right hand graze the exposed skin of her side and he almost starts stroking it before realizing what a bad idea that would be.

She stares into his eyes for a moment, her own wide and speckled with little chips of burnt amber, and then she clears her throat and looks somewhere past his shoulder. "Right," she says. "So the waltz you're writing… English waltz, you said? It's usually danced one step per beat in this position—it's called closed position. And three beats a measure, right? You're supposed to be leading right now but here, follow my feet…"

She starts moving and he tries to move with her, nearly trodding on her foot with his first step. He manages to avoid doing so but then knocks her in the chin by accident and they both wince.

"Just a simple circuit of three," she says. "Don't think too much about it; it's really not that hard. Step, two, three—step, two three—oh, that's pretty good—step, two, three—yeah, that's right, you're starting to get it!"

It's true, if he doesn't think then his feet just move in time with hers without any help from his brain. If he doesn't think about his feet, his mind wanders to her hair, how close he is to it and how nice it smells, a soft scent he can't quite identify—maybe something floral? He never knew his flowers.

Or her face, light freckles dotting her nose, her eyes sparkling with sunlight, her skin smooth and creamy like milk or maybe butter, something delicious he wants to taste with his tongue.

Or the feeling of her hand in his; she is so close to him he can feel warmth radiating from every pore of her body, and it makes the back of his neck crawl with heat, his stomach churn with desire, his chest feel tight with longing.

It is only a basic step, the most basic of them all, but it is certainly rhythmic (_step_, two, three, _step_, two, three) and he finds a certain peacefulness in it, a soft pattern of gentle movement and simple joy, something that sings of the freshness of spring or the quiet dewdrops of summer, the changing colors of autumn or the stillness of winter mornings after a nighttime snowfall. It sounds like his pulse in his ears, the beating of his heart in time with his steps, and from that emerges a melody, dainty notes and careful chords that form the beginning of the piece he wants to write.

He slows then, and stops, and Petra does too, following his lead, but she does not let go of him. "You got it?" she asks when he looks at her; it must be evident in his face.

Her cheeks are slightly flushed, her eyes gleaming with something almost like wonder, and looking at her, his breath catches in his throat; his hand fits perfectly on her waist, her fingers warm in his.

"Yeah," he says, and his voice comes out much more quietly than he intended, almost a whisper, a whispered promise of something yet to come. "Yeah, I think I did."


	4. hickey

_A/N: This has also been posted in the AU three sentence fics chapter of my Rivetra drabble collection but whatever._

* * *

Petra is still indignant as they leave the subway, emerging onto the crowded streets of Manhattan to join the throngs of pedestrians heading home for the evening. "I still can't believe she―I mean, that's not the first time I've heard it, I know it _does _look like one but―I just can't believe a _complete stranger_ told me I had a hickey and―it's a _violin mark_, dammit!"

Levi hasn't said anything as she complained for the past two minutes, but he finally turns to her, and his face is passive but there is a clear smirk in his voice as he says, "You know, if you were wearing a lower shirt, she wouldn't have been wrong."

She smacks him in the arm, feeling her cheeks start to heat up, and vows to get him back later that night.

* * *

_A/N: Let me know if anyone's interested in more; if not this'll probably be the last music AU drabble I'll post on ffnet. You can always read these on tumblr instead, where I'll post more._


	5. first time

_A/N: And this is why this collection is rated M. Don't look at me I can't write nsfw crap._

* * *

At some point Petra finds they have moved from the piano bench to the floor; she's not sure when that happened and she can't be bothered to care when Levi's fingers are tugging at the hem of her shirt, stroking steady rhythms across her bare skin, causing all sorts of sounds she's never heard before to come shuddering out of her throat.

He scrapes his teeth down her neck, his tongue soothing the sting shortly after and she gasps as he hits a sensitive spot. She can feel his lips twitch in amusement against her skin and she wants to say _you ass_ but the sensation is so pleasing in a prickly sort of way that she doesn't bother.

She spreads her palms across the warm skin of his back—for someone who spends most of his time sitting in front of a piano or a computer, he is quite fit—as he works at the buttons of her shirt, and she silently curses herself for wearing something buttoned tonight; she helps him, fingers fumbling, not caring if she pops one off or tears the fabric. He pushes it aside and his gaze is not full of lust or a greedy hunger—it is soft at the edges, warm, and it sends the butterflies in her stomach swooping, the little breath left in her throat fleeing.

"Like what you see?" she says, giving him what she hopes is a cocky smirk.

His only response is to lower his mouth to her collarbone, kissing, biting, sucking as he travels lower, his fingers undoing the clasp of her bra; she swears those breathy sounds are not hers as she arches into his touch, her fingernails tightening on his back whenever his tongue swirls around a particularly sensitive area.

He raises his head to meet her gaze; his eyes are heated and intense, the color of burning metal, molten steel. "Bed," he says.

Of course, he wouldn't want to do this on the _floor_. The word is not spoken like a question but she can tell it is one anyway in the slight faltering of his hands, the tentative way his eyes trace the curves of her body. He is asking for permission.

And maybe she shouldn't give it, maybe they are going too fast—she only just kissed him for the first time less than half an hour ago, really—but this is _Levi_ and she's known him for so long now, has loved him for nearly as long, and it feels like she's been waiting for this far longer than that.

So she lets him pull her up, lets him press her into his bed, those sheets as familiar to her as her own, lets his hands and mouth explore her body, lets him lower himself onto her; and she kisses and bites and sucks on his skin, fingernails raking down his back as she rocks against him, the rhythm imperfect but their hearts beating in perfect sync.

Afterwards, when she is completely spent and lies there, her limbs entwined with his, she kisses his sweaty, damp hair and tightens her arms around his shoulders. His fingers curl around her waist and he whispers something she can't hear against her neck, and she smiles because this feels right, _they_ feel right, and she knows she made the right choice.


	6. morning after

_A/N: Actually this may be kind of M-rated too for implications idk man whatever._

* * *

Sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains, warm and bright as it sparkles off the snow outside, sharp pinpricks of light slicing through the glass. Petra stirs and opens her eyes, squinting against the glare, reaching up to rub a hand across her eyes—and freezes momentarily when she nearly hits the person lying next to her.

It takes another moment for it to sink in that she's not in her own bed, and then memories of the night before rush back—_hard kisses, heated lips, stroking fingers, skin against skin_—and she fights back a blush, because _damn_—she hasn't done anything like that in… ever, really.

And it was amazing.

The blush slowly recedes, turning into what she's sure is a goofy grin, and she wriggles her feet, shakes her limbs around; she's not even that sore. She cranes her neck to look at the clock Levi has hanging on the wall: it reads 11:43 AM. They _did_ stay up pretty late last night.

"Levi," she whispers, turning back to him and poking him in the side. "Levi, get up."

He cracks one eye open to give her a grumpy look and then closes it again, not moving. She huffs and leans over, ready to tickle him, but nearly yelps as his hands grab hers, tugging them away from her chosen spot to attack; his arms snake around her waist and he pulls her to him, his bare chest solid and warm and comforting.

"Levi, it's nearly noon," she says, but she's certainly not complaining.

He mumbles something incoherent, his eyes still closed; his hands start rubbing circles against her stomach and she thinks of where they were last night, what they did, and she has to stave off another goofy grin. His fingers aren't only good for playing piano, that's for sure.

They move a little lower and she stifles a squeak of surprise, trying not to blush again as she swats his hand away. _"No,"_ she says, hoping she sounds stern. "I'm tired and it's getting late. We should get up."

He presses a lazy kiss to the hollow of her throat and she gulps. _"Levi,"_ she whines, and his response is to trace his fingers up her stomach, his tongue lapping at the sensitive skin just below her jaw.

She's just thinking maybe she's not that tired after all when he finally speaks. "Petra?" he murmurs, the low thrum of his voice tickling her collarbone.

Well, at least he's somewhat coherent now. "What?"

She can feel the curve of his smirk against the side of her neck. "Last night, when I…" His fingers trail down her abdomen again. "That first sound you made was a C-sharp."

This time she elbows him as hard as she can.

* * *

_A/N: I keep ending up writing things in this AU but let me know if you're interested in more because I don't want to spam you all with notifications for this fic :)_


	7. first date

_A/N: This was written for an 'I want the K' prompt (7: Romantic Kiss). How well it fits is a matter of opinion._

* * *

She's heard all her friends say it before—_things change after sex,_ they say, _it's not the same anymore,_ and _after the first time it becomes practically all he thinks about_ even. Of course there are exceptions, but for the most part, all of her friends seem to agree that relationships are always different afterwards.

Petra finds she doesn't share the sentiment, however; it's only been a few hours but she thinks everything is the same as it's always been, except she can now stare at Levi freely whenever he does something particularly distracting and kiss him when she likes.

He is sitting at his computer again, working on the piano part for his concerto, muttering under his breath and looking irritated: the exact same position he's usually in whenever she visits, only sans shirt. She definitely doesn't mind; she can appreciate the view openly now from where she sits cross-legged on the ground, putting her violin back in its case.

They talked over cereal and milk earlier (she's definitely going to have to do something about his choice of breakfast foods; he doesn't even buy the good brands), and while nothing has been completely settled, while she still doesn't know what she's going to do about her career or what he plans on doing with his, she knows they will support each other no matter what, and that's good enough for her.

She's still relatively new to the relationship thing—she has dated before, but she's never cared for someone as much as she does for Levi. He isn't just some cute guy from school or whatever; he's one of her best friends and she doesn't want to mess this up.

He feels the same way, she can tell, but he didn't say it when they talked; though that's to be expected coming from him. The fact that he talked at all about feelings and "other shitty stuff" as he'd probably call it is amazing enough to begin with.

It stays in the back of her mind though, causing her thoughts to occasionally wander as she practiced her violin. It doesn't bother her—_bother_ is too strong a word—but it isn't pleasant either, and Petra has to wonder if she'll end up doing something wrong, and how she'll know if she does, and—

"Fuck this," Levi announces, closing his laptop with a sudden quick sound, leaning back in his chair and turning to face her. "Let's go on a date or some stupid shit like that."

She just blinks at him, unsure she heard correctly. "A… date?"

"Yeah. Dinner or whatever; what people usually do before they sleep together, right?"

"I guess we got the order wrong," she says, and he snorts.

"Guess so."

There is silence for a moment as neither of them speak; Petra zips up her violin case and leaves it in a standing position by the door; Levi drums his fingers against his leg in three-four patterns. The world outside is quiet, blanketed by fresh snow that has yet to turn into black slush on the ground, and the sun shines rays of gold filtered with crystals into the room. She breathes in the warm light and opens her mouth to say something but he beats her to it.

"Look, I haven't… dated anyone in years, so I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but people usually go on dates and we're late but we might as well, so do you want to go on a fucking date with me or not?"

Petra can't help it—she laughs. Before he can look offended, she crosses the room in a few easy strides and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss into his soft dark hair and enjoying the heavy warmth of his bare skin. He covers her hands with his, fingers curling around her knuckles, and she smiles like there is no tomorrow.

"I'd love to go on a fucking date with you."

.

.

.

It's probably not at all how it's supposed to go—they were probably supposed to have made reservations at least a week ago, dressed properly, showed up with enough money, met all the basic requirements at least.

Instead they step into the fancy restaurant, the kind with two stories and floor-to-ceiling glass windows designed especially for tourists who want to gawk at the ugly city streets below, Levi wearing his usual jeans-and-collared-shirt combo (at least it's not white) and Petra in her clothes from last night. They wait nearly twenty minutes for a table and just as the hostess is about to lead them to one, Levi finishes flicking through the restaurant menu on his phone and declares he'd actually rather not eat here, taking into consideration the prices and the number of bills plus the lack of credit card in his wallet.

They end up at a small Chinese place, Petra inhaling her fried rice while Levi gives up on chopsticks after the fifth attempt and gets a plastic fork instead. The owner of the restaurant thanks them in broken English as they leave, trying to hand them business cards, and Petra accepts them with a smile and a word of gratitude before Levi can open his mouth and say something stupid again.

They watch a movie at the cinema closest to where they ate dinner, a rather shabby little theater with hardly any visitors. It's some action movie with chase scenes and shootings aplenty, but even Petra has to admit the special effects aren't the best and she hears more of Levi's scathing commentary than anything else for the entire two hours.

It isn't anything special, it isn't anything they haven't done before, it isn't anything at all like how first dates probably should go, but when Levi drops her off at her apartment that night, she can't recall the last time she felt so happy and peaceful yet giddy at the same time, and she thinks she'd take this over a fancy meal and two hours at a concert hall with someone else any day, every day.

He double-parks by the sidewalk and walks her into the lobby of her apartment building; the usual security guard is nowhere to be seen at the moment. Petra runs a hand through her hair, suddenly feeling oddly shy.

"I had a good time tonight," she says, giving Levi her best grin. "I'll call you later or maybe tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he starts to say, but the word seems to get caught in his throat as he stares at her. "Sure."

His eyes are soft, his expression almost serene under the dim yellow lighting, and she doesn't have to think twice about what to do next, because this is still a date and people do this on dates, even first dates sometimes, right?—she holds her hands to his face, cupping it in her palms, and gently raises her lips to his.

She tasted them already last night, tasted him, but this is different—this is something just as tender, even more sweet, something solid yet light and carefree that sends her heart fluttering to her knees, something like the beginnings of a lifetime promise. His fingers tug her closer to him, his mouth searching hers, and after a long moment she breaks the kiss to press her forehead against his.

Maybe he doesn't know what he's doing, maybe she doesn't either, maybe they'll be separated within a month's time, but for now they are together and as long as they can figure things out, together, she knows everything is going to be okay.


	8. performance

_A/N: Useless cheesy stuff._

* * *

Petra thinks she is a very supportive girlfriend.

It's not just how she shows up for every single one of Levi's performances or how she always eats his cooking even when it tastes like sawdust (which is most of the time); it's not even how she's encouraging him to go for a good job over three thousand miles away from her. She wants him to be happy, will push him to do whatever's best for him, and in general she thinks she's not too bad at this whole dating thing.

She could do a whole lot worse with being supportive, but right now there is no way she's not going to laugh at him.

"Your thumb doesn't go _there_," she says again, grinning when Levi stares down at her bow as if he has no idea how it got into his hand.

"How do you balance it?" he wants to know, shifting his fingers experimentally. His eyes widen comically when he nearly drops it and she doesn't bother hiding her snort.

"Just play," she says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "You've made fun of me for my poor piano skills enough; it's my turn now."

He's never expressed an interest in her violin before and she doesn't usually let others play it, but the community center where she's going to be showing students techniques for practicing Mendelssohn doesn't have a piano available today and the kids aren't due for at least another half hour, and apparently he's too lazy to retrieve his phone from where he left it in the car.

After warming up she set her violin aside, he stared at it for a good three minutes before asking slowly if he could try it, and now Petra is enjoying herself as he awkwardly sets the violin on his shoulder and winces.

"No wonder you have a violin mark," he gripes. "This thing is fucking painful."

"You're just spoiled by your piano," she counters. "We get violin marks and deformed fingers and neck and shoulder pains and even rashes sometimes; all you get is a big butt from sitting too much."

"My butt is not big," Levi says, adjusting the violin on his shoulder as he grimaces some more, and Petra smirks.

"I know; I've seen it."

He scowls at her as he gives up on keeping the instrument stable with his chin and instead uses his left hand to keep it steady. "I see some people use a cloth when they play."

"Sensitive skin," she says, waving a hand in the air in an impatient gesture. "Go on, Mr. Stolze. Make some music."

The look on his face is one she usually sees right before he does something like make a completely unnecessary comment or flip someone off (usually Hanji), but all he does is raise the bow to the string and press down and pull.

The sound that comes out is definitely not music, that's for sure.

His face is priceless, and Petra has to cover her mouth with her hand as she giggles. He seems determined though, still resolutely pulling the bow across the string, staring hard at it as if that will lessen the scratchy noises.

"Your hands are always relaxed when you play piano and it doesn't have to be any different for violin," she points out. "Your right hand is way too tense. And your bow's going crooked."

Halfway through the note the bow slides from the G to the D string, and after a moment Levi stops to shake his arm and say, "How the hell do you play at the tip? My arm hurts already."

"Move your upper arm forward a bit. You get used to it."

He gives up on long notes and plays a few staccato ones, dropping the bow in tiny motions a few times. She watches with no small amount of amusement as his fingers, always so agile and dexterous, curl awkwardly across the fingerboard.

He presses a few notes that would probably be in tune in 420 Hz or something and she snickers. "Hey, at least when I play piano I'm never out of tune, right?"

"Shut up," he says mildly, giving her the bow. He plucks the strings a few times with the second finger of his right hand before removing the violin from his shoulder to hand it carefully back to her. She takes it by the neck and sets her instrument and bow down on the case by her chair.

"You sure you don't want to play some more? I was enjoying the music."

"Show's over," he says, sitting next to her and propping his elbow on the back of her chair; she leans against his forearm and he weaves a few strands of her hair through his fingers.

"I demand an encore."

"What if I didn't prepare one?"

"That's a shame. Your fans will be disappointed."

He removes his arm abruptly and she catches herself before tipping over; she glares at him and he blinks back. "Are you included in my disappointed fanbase?"

"Oh yeah. Most definitely."

He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her into his lap in one sudden motion; she stifles a startled yelp and twists her head to glare at him some more but finds her face two inches from his.

He drops a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth. "Would this make up for it?"

She winds her arms around his shoulders as she pretends to ponder the question. "I don't know, Levi; I was looking forward to this performance for a long time. You'll have to convince me."

He shakes his head. "Such high expectations."

"Well, you _are_ a prodigy, aren't you? You should live up to those expectations."

"Alright," he says, his breath soft against her lips as he tugs her closer to him. "I'll do my best."


	9. parting

_A/N: I have many music AU drabbles in my documents that I keep forgetting to post; here's one of them._

* * *

His flight leaves at six in the evening, so they leave his apartment by three.

She means to stay awake and keep him company during the fifty-minute drive to JFK, but she didn't exactly get a lot of rest last night and she ends up falling asleep for most of the ride. She wakes with a start when he parks, tossing her his car keys and telling her that ultimately he likes her more than his car but she'd better not scratch it in any way on the drive back.

She insists on wheeling his suitcase for him even though he only has one backpack with his laptop and tablet in it; "I feel stupid following you to the airport with nothing in my hands," she explains, even though that's not really the case. Her tongue feels strange in her mouth, like it can't form words properly, and she doesn't know what to say so she doesn't say anything of importance.

The lines at the airport are not too long and she takes his backpack from him and waits by security when he goes to check in and drop off his suitcase. She's been to this airport a few times before, though she usually flies to and from LaGuardia as it's closer to where she lives.

By the time he comes back, she's already run through fifty different lines and discarded each one—there is nothing that can sum up the twisted knot of emotions in her chest, so she swallows and tries to smile instead.

"Don't be too rude to the flight attendants," she says, handing him his bag. He takes it and slings it over his shoulder but doesn't respond.

"And I'd tell you to have a good flight but I'm sure you'd find a way to complain about everything even if you were flying first-class on a Boeing 787," she adds, and he snorts at that.

"So…" She swallows again, tucks a strand of hair behind one ear and crosses her arms. "Try to have fun but try not to give them an even worse impression of Americans. And… I'll see you sometime?"

She's not sure when exactly he'll find out the results of his audition, but even if it takes a while and he travels back to New York in the meantime, she'll be in Chicago by then. It's likely they'll miss each other, flying back and forth, and she knows there's email and Skype and everything but that doesn't really change the fact that she has no idea when she will next see him in person.

"Yeah, see you," he echoes.

She nods once. "Right. Uh… you don't want to be late for your boarding time, so you should probably get going."

He doesn't move, tilts his head and looks at her for a long moment. "Petra," he finally says.

"Yeah?"

"I'll miss you."

He says the words pretty much the same way he says everything, from "Your rhythm is unsteady" to "I'm going to order pizza" to "Take off your clothes," but she hears the faint fluctuation in his voice and with that all her carefully thought-out farewells crumble in her mind and she doesn't think, just acts, reaching out for him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, kissing him on the cheek before burying her face in his warmth.

"Me too," she mumbles against the collar of his shirt, and she can feel his throat bob up and down as he tries to talk.

In the end he just untangles himself from her, holding her at arms' length to stare at her as if trying to commit her features to memory. "Kick ass in Chicago."

"You too. Well. In Birmingham. But remember you're the piano _accompanist_ and don't give anyone too much shit."

"I'll try not to," he says, perfectly seriously, and she rolls her eyes.

"Yeah. So, uh, I guess you should go now."

She doesn't want to make a big deal out of this, because she doesn't want to start tearing up or anything and she knows Levi hates PDA and causing scenes in public, but he doesn't seem to notice all the other people around them, passing by and walking into the security check. He raises a hand to cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheek, and then leans forward and brushes his lips lightly against hers.

"See you later," he says, pulling back, and then with more than a few glances over his shoulder at her, he enters security, flashing his passport at the official standing by the entrance.

Before disappearing from sight, he turns back again, and though she's hardly ever seen him do it he deigns to lift an arm and wave. She waves back, smiling and biting her lips, until he is gone.

Back in the parking lot, she sits in the driver's seat with her elbows on the steering wheel, thinking of Chicago and audition pieces and the excerpts Levi played for her that he'll be auditioning with. She thinks of the key to his apartment on the keyring plugged into the ignition and his grand piano and how he left his place more spotless than she would have; when her phone vibrates in her pocket she knows it's him, probably complaining about how they forced him to take off his shoes, and she knows it doesn't matter where they are in the world, they're still together anyway and that's what matters.


	10. proposal

_A/N: This was requested on tumblr. It's super cheesy and all that but what do you expect from me lmao_

* * *

The party starts at six.

The plane lands around the same time, and despite Petra's insistence that Levi should stay at his own party, he only points out he didn't want it in the first place, so when she and Erd walk into the terminal straight out of baggage claim, Levi is already there waiting for them.

Completely ignoring that Erd is with her or that her boyfriend isn't exactly a fan of PDA, Petra drops her suitcase and runs to him, nearly knocking him over when she throws her arms around him. After a moment she leans back to stare at him—she Skyped with him just this morning, but he looks so much better in person, and the fact that she can actually feel him again after so many months, warm and alive and _here_—

"Hey," he says quietly, with one of his all-too-rare grins, and her heart melts.

"Hey," she says breathlessly, and pulls him in for a kiss.

They only pull apart when Erd clears his throat, standing awkwardly three feet behind them, gaze fixed pointedly over their heads. "Hey, Levi," he says when Petra moves out of the way, just the tiniest bit. "Good to see you again."

Levi nods in greeting, gesturing at the suitcases. "Need any help with those?"

"Hanji's been teaching you manners!" Petra mock-gasps as Erd shakes his head and says, "Nah, help your girlfriend instead. She's been waiting for this for ages."

She glowers at him but he winks, nods at Levi, and she has to admit he's right. She still makes a face at him as Levi grabs her suitcase as well as her duffel bag off her back, and he nearly takes her purse too before she assures him she is perfectly capable of carrying that by herself.

"How was the flight?" Levi asks as the three of them make their way out of the airport, heading for the parking lot. "Did you sleep?"

"I didn't," Erd says, smirking. "This girl claimed she was too excited to sleep though and then drooled on my shoulder the whole time."

"I don't drool!"

"Sometimes you do," Levi says. "I usually wake up first in the mornings." She must look somewhat mortified because he adds, completely deadpan, "Don't worry. You're still sexy."

Petra punches him in the shoulder, feeling her face turn red, as he hides a smile with a quick cough and Erd starts laughing behind them. It hasn't been _that_ long since she's last seen Levi but she can't recall him ever making comments like that in front of others before. Maybe he's in a good mood today.

_Oh._ Right. She wants to smack herself for not saying it earlier. "Happy birthday, Levi! Well, in a few hours. Merry Christmas too."

"Have a merry, Christmassy birthday tomorrow," Erd adds.

"Thanks," Levi says dryly.

Her smile grows wider and she slings one arm over his shoulders as they walk, resting her head against his for a brief second. "It's good to see you again," she whispers, and he turns to drop a quick kiss on her cheek.

"You too," he says, and Petra thinks no matter how great Chicago is, this is where she really belongs.

* * *

The party is in full swing by the time they arrive—if "full swing" can be defined by Hanji beating everyone at cards in the living room. The moment Erd and Petra step through the door they are swarmed by friends and family—this is supposed to be a combination Christmas/Levi's birthday party and Hanji did all the planning and sent out the invitations, so there are some people Petra doesn't recognize.

"Pet!" Gunter and Auruo push through the small crowd and she breaks away from Levi to tackle them both.

"Petra," someone else calls, and then she's hugging her father, laughing and shouting to be heard over everyone's voices, and she thinks she hasn't been this happy in ages.

The next few hours pass in a blur; there are more people crammed into Levi's apartment than she thought and she finds people she didn't expect to see all over the place; Hanji invited Petra's friends too, Rico and Anka and Nanaba, and Nanaba and Rico's boyfriends, Mike Zacharius and Ian Dietrich. Anka's been single longer than Petra can remember, and at some point in the night she sees Auruo flirting with Anka, which isn't unusual, but what is unusual is that Anka is somewhat flirting back.

Petra runs into two unfamiliar people possibly a bit younger than her, a girl who manages to make pigtails look good despite her age and a guy with pale blond hair and a calm smile. "It's so good to finally meet you!" the girl cries, holding out her arms for a hug. Petra hugs her back, surprised.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure if Levi's mentioned you before…?"

"Oh! We only caught up last month! I'm Isabel Magnolia."

"Farlan Church," the guy says, holding out his hand.

Petra shakes it, nodding. "Levi did tell me about you! He said he knew you two when he was young and only met up again recently."

"He won't stop talking about you." Isabel's smile is sly. "I tell you, he's head over heels in _loooove_."

Petra must be blushing because Farlan says smoothly, "What did he say about us?"

She gives him a grateful look. "That you're exactly how he remembers: like a quiet little brother and an annoying little sister."

"Big brother's always been so mean to me," Isabel pouts, and the conversation devolves into stories of Levi's childhood, much to Petra's delight.

By one in the morning, after everyone toasted at midnight on Christmas Day, the party starts to die down, mostly because half the people are drunk, making out somewhere, or in Auruo's case, utterly passed out on the living room floor. Petra's father left shortly after midnight, claiming he was too old to sleep too late, Erwin left on what he said was a very important errand and Hanji went with him, and the remaining guests who are still conscious or not otherwise occupied are just hanging around Levi's apartment.

The TV is on but no one is watching it; Petra makes a note to turn it off later as she enters the kitchen for a glass of water. She's filling a pot with tap water to boil when Levi walks in, hands in his pockets.

"Hey," she says, looking up from the sink to smile at him. She hasn't seen much of him since they arrived, and they haven't really had a chance to talk yet, just the two of them. "Happy birthday."

"Merry Christmas," he says, leaning against the counter and pretending to study the clock on the wall, but she can feel all his focus on his peripheral vision, at her, and she bites her lip to hide another smile.

"I got you a present. It's in my suitcase though; I'll get it for you later."

"Thanks."

"So how's your year been in England, overall? I notice you still haven't developed a British accent."

"Thank God."

"You don't like British accents?"

"Erwin puts me off."

She snorts, turning off the tap water and placing the pot on the stove to boil before joining him against the counter. She leans her head against his shoulder, takes one of his hands so she can play with his fingers, and he snakes his other arm around her waist.

"So you're good? The dancers don't hate you? The new ones who aren't used to you?"

"They got used to me," he says with a shrug. "Some of them might consider me a friend."

"That's pretty good, for you." Petra nudges him and he huffs.

"How about you?"

"I love the CSO," she says immediately. "You know I do. The people are great. Touring with them is great. The violin section—every single section, really—is amazing and friendly and… I just love it. You know that."

"I'm glad you're having a good time," Levi says, tapping each syllable against her waist. She squirms a little and he stops.

"It's great to be back though." She squeezes his hand. "It's… really great."

"Oh? Not just ordinary great? _Really_ great?"

His tone is teasing but she elbows him anyway, though very gently. "Yeah. Really great."

They lapse into silence, Petra cracking each of his knuckles and tracing the lines of his palms as he lets her. She tilts her head to look at him, his forehead faintly creased, lips drawn into a line, and she would think he looks agitated if she didn't see the serene expression in his eyes.

She's just thinking the water should start whistling any moment now when he says, out of the blue, "Marry me?"

Petra blinks once. Twice. Once more and she turns to stare hard at his face, not sure if she heard correctly. "What?"

He shrugs, now looking faintly embarrassed. "If you want to, that is."

She gapes at him. "What… I… don't be an idiot, of course I do."

"I should've probably asked properly," he says, picking up her hand and studying her fingers the way she was studying his a moment ago. "I was going to. I asked your father already, a few months ago, and there's a ring in my desk drawer… I guess I'm just shit at stuff like this."

She bites her lip, this time because it's trembling slightly and she wants her voice to come out steadily when she says, "Levi?"

"Yeah?"

"You know my answer is yes, right? It always was, always is, and always will be."

He lifts her hand to his lips, presses them lightly against her wrist. "That's a relief."

She laughs then, half-laughs and half-sobs and wraps her arms around him, holding him as tightly as she can as she kisses his face, his cheeks and his nose and his forehead and his mouth, again and again. "I love you," she says against his lips. "I don't remember if I've told you before because I thought you knew. But you know, right? I love you."

"I love you too," he says, his fingers skimming feather-light across her back, her shoulders and her neck and then her jaw, coming to rest against her cheek. "But you know that already."

She cups his face in both hands, kisses him over and over again; she can't speak or form coherent thought, but she knows with certainty that she never wants to let him go. After all, they are together now and they are meant to be this way—they are the warm, comfortable tones of the main melody, soothing and familiar, but now the key is changing, modulating into something new, something fresh and different but just as wonderful as the original, and she can't wait to see where it goes.

* * *

_A/N: I WARNED YOU_

_Also if you're not too busy, let me know your thoughts? I mostly just post these on tumblr and I'm always forgetting about this collection on ffnet xP_


	11. intermission

_A/N: Just a really short quick thing I thought of. Set before the first music AU fic._

* * *

The intermission is fifteen minutes long, not the twenty Levi is used to, but he supposes it's enough time to step out and have a smoke anyway. He nods his thanks at the few audience members he passes who praise him, and ducks behind the curtain to return to his dressing room for a pack of cigarettes.

Two minutes later he opens the door at the end of the hallway; it leads to a small balcony overlooking the parking lot behind the building. He lights a cigarette, sticks the end in his mouth, and inhales.

Hanji finds him there in another three minutes, leaning against the railing and staring down at the cars below, noting which ones have clean windshields and which ones are splattered with bird droppings. "You should get ready soon," she advises, tapping her watch. "You've got about ten minutes left and even if the theater staff are late, you never should be."

He doesn't respond, but when she walks over to stand next to him, he offers her a cigarette.

"You know I don't smoke. Though as I've said before, it's weird that you do, eh? Dust bunny Nazi that you are. Funny you want all that black stuff in your lungs."

He blows smoke at her and she waves it away, making a face. "The lighting guy gave me the paper. Thought you might want to look at it."

Levi takes the proffered newspaper in one hand and flips it open, flicking casually through the pages. He stops at the entertainment section because his face is the first thing printed at the top.

"This is the fifth time I've performed here," he mutters, eyes scanning the text underneath. "Why the hell are they reporting on it again?"

"Because you're a great pianist, Levi. Have you read your reviews?"

"No."

"You should. Feedback is one of the most important things an artist can receive. Well, and donations. Those are awesome too."

"It's the same shit every media outlet says every time," he says, holding up the newspaper and giving it a shake. "There's no point in reading anything in this."

"You should anyway. You might find something interesting."

He gives the page another look, eyes moving past his own face and the details of the concert below, glancing quickly at the other short articles around it, one about an upcoming jazz band concert and another about a Juillard string quartet composed of students, three tall guys and one short girl if the picture is anything to go by.

He closes the paper and hands it back to Hanji, turning away to take another puff on his cigarette. "Nope. Nothing interesting."


	12. encounter

_A/N: SO I DID NOT WRITE THIS! This was written by the wonderful and talented Pauline, aka **ohwhatsherface**/sun-summoning on tumblr. We were both writing something from each other's fics so yeah, this is her part. Thanks Pauline for letting me post it lol_

_Also it's been one year since this silly AU existed as of yesterday. Whoo.  
_

* * *

After finishing his business in the bathroom, Eren can't help his curious wandering around his music teacher's apartment.

Mr. Stolze – or, "Levi," as his teacher insisted he call him, because "Mr. Stolze sounds friggin' dumb" – has a rather large home, Eren realizes, quietly stepping into a bedroom that isn't a bedroom at all. He stands in the doorframe, his hand still on the knob, and stares in awe at the shelves lining the walls. He glances over his shoulder before grinning mischievously and stepping inside and exploring only to find books and more books and sheets and sheets of music. When he understands there's nothing particularly fun in this room to tell him anything about his cranky old music teacher, Eren goes back outside.

The next door he comes across, he enters more courageously. He's already seen the first bedroom and the two bathrooms, so he figures this last door to be Levi's bedroom. He pushes the door open half-expecting to find weapons or something frightening.

Instead he sees a pretty red-haired lady sitting on Levi's bed.

"Um." Eren gulps when she looks up from the catalogue in her hands and frowns at him. "Uhhh." Eren grins at her the way he does when he knows he did something wrong and his mother is about to scold him. "Hello?"

Much to his relief, the lady only smiles back at him. "You must be Eren."

"Er. Yeah."

She doesn't say anything else and Eren shifts his weight from one foot to the other, torn between apologizing and shutting the door and running back to Levi and Mikasa and his mother, and staying and chatting and figuring out who she is. With a nod of resolve, Eren chooses the latter and strides across Levi's room to join the lady.

"Who are you?" he asks while climbing the bed to sit beside her.

"I'm Petra," she replies.

"Petra," Eren repeats curiously. Finally he grins at her. "That's a pretty name," he decides. "I like your hair, Miss Petra. It's a pretty colour."

She tugs on a lock, examining the auburn shade. "You really think so, Eren?"

Eren nods eagerly, his feet swinging from his perch at the edge of the bed. "Mikasa has pretty hair too – well, that's what Jean says, at least. But Jean is a loser so whatever. Her hair kind of just looks normal to me."

Petra laughs and Eren decides that that's pretty too. "Well I like your eyes, Eren," she says.

"Thanks! They're green."

"I noticed." She glances at the open door when the sound of someone on the piano reaches the bedroom. "Is that your sister playing?"

Eren can't help but grimace. "Yeah…"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's _wrong_," Eren grouses. "Just Mikasa is really, really good and I'm…" He looks down at his lap and begins to fidget, playing with the hem of his shirt. He shrugs and looks up at Petra with a pout. "Mommy's getting Mikasa a violin for her next birthday, you know. Because she's so good with the piano and they want her to learn more stuff now."

"Is that bad?"

"No, but they're not getting _me_ a violin! Does that mean I'm _not _good?"

As Eren continues to play with his shirt and mumble incoherently, Petra wraps an arm around his shoulder and points to the grand piano. "You know, I play a bit of piano myself. Just a tiny bit though," she emphasizes, making a gesture with her index finger and her thumb. When Eren laughs, she continues, "Anyhow, Levi's teaching me how to play as well."

Eren gapes at her. "What? You too, Miss Petra?"

"Yup." She grimaces. "I kind of suck though."

"Don't say that!" Eren exclaims. He shifts so that he's kneeling and grabs Petra's face firmly with his little hands. When he's certain he has her attention, he tells her, "Sucking at something is the first step towards being sort of good at something."

"Then somewhere in between those two steps, Eren, is being 'not good.'" She gently pries his hands away from her face and brushes her thumbs over his knuckles. "But I've heard you play, you know."

Eren can't help but blush at the admission. "_What_?! You have?"

"You're incredibly talented," she continues much to his embarrassment. "You're going to become a very fine musician, Eren."

"Like Mr. Levi?"

Petra stands and lifts him off the bed and onto the floor. She figures he won't actually go back to his lesson unless she walks him there, so she takes his hand and tugs him into the hallway. "Sure," she says. "But only if you practice every single day," she adds with a wink.

"_Ugh_, but Miss Petra!"


End file.
